What Lies Beneath
It’s a big day today. The moon will cover the sun and plunge a part of North America into darkness for over three minutes in the middle of the day. I won’t be in one of the places where people will be witnessing it live. And yet, I am resonating with it, even from afar — this celestial event that will emerge out of nowhere and fundamentally alter the world for a moment. What happens when everything familiar disappears, when the light leaves the sky?
I imagine the eclipse will be scary, maybe terrifying, and simultaneously astounding, even wondrous, probably touching right on that stretch zone-panic zone edge. I imagine how it is experienced will have a lot to do with the beholder. Does it inspire imagination and possibility, or fear and confusion, or some of both, or something else altogether? I can’t wait to listen to peoples’ experiences and learn from them.
It’s reminding me of what I heard at the Bioneers conference last week: that 50% of the forest lives under the soil. Everything we see above ground also exists below, in the microorganisms, mycelium, fungi and the critters. There is a ‘wood wide web’, a whole mycorrhizal network transferring water, nutrients, and information across the living matter of the forest. In fact, if we only pay attention to what we can see in the trees, birds and woodland creatures, we’re missing half the story. (I guess it’s like missing the forest for the trees?)
As soon as I heard this from Suzanne Simard, a Canadian scientist and author of Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest, I felt chills go through my body. Because I believe 50% of what composes community is also invisible and beneath the soil — it is each of our inner worlds. The 50% we can see is our relationships and the wider systems we co-create. And maybe one way to understand this ‘forest’ is as a reflection of our internal mindsets and feelings. When the mycorrhizal network is acknowledged and cared for, all of the trees and the beings that live off of them (including humans) benefit in their health and vitality. I believe the same is true for the power and value of inner work, in terms of its massive impact on relationships and systems.
It’s funny. When I first started working with the model of the three fields of transformation — the internal, the interpersonal, and the systemic — I think I saw the systemic as the biggest and most important part, followed by the interpersonal, and then the internal. Like 60% of the change is held in systems, followed by 30% in our relationships, and 10% inside of each one of us. Then, over time, my sense became more equalized, like the fields are split at 33.3% each. And now, as I reflect on my experiences in working in India with Shikshantar, the YES! Jams, and my freelance organizational consulting projects, I have flipped it all again: that 50% of the change is internal, then 35% is in our relationships, and 15% is systemic.
(By the way, I heard from my friend Kazu that 80% of statistics are made up right on the spot.)
Let me play this out a bit through the example of conflict. I keep finding that peoples’ inner feelings about conflict determine what happens in the conflicts they have with others and what kinds of systems they build for addressing conflict. In fact, those inner feelings seem to be the most constructive (or destructive) turning point in the conflict.
I have worked with many clients who are afraid of conflict. For various reasons, often related to their childhood and how conflicts were dealt with (or not dealt with) in their families, they avoid conflicts. They feel uncomfortable around different perspectives, especially if they think those differences might lead people to get heated. So, they don’t share their own needs or feelings with others, nor do they advocate for structural spaces and skillful tools (like regular feedback practices) where those differences could be named and addressed. Relationships deteriorate, as do whole movements and organizations, because of how these attitudes get embedded into practices and policies.
One of my clients took his discomfort with conflict in another direction by trying to protect the people involved in the conflict from each other. As the manager, he became an interlocutor, serving as a go-between, listening to one person and giving them feedback and support, and then listening to the other, and doing the same — but never bringing both people together so that they could hear each other. While an interlocutor could be helpful in the very short-term, to help people feel heard and expand their perspectives on the conflict, if that role persists for too long, it breaks down trust between the conflicting parties. In separating the two people from each other and holding the weight of the conflict on his own, the manager ensured that they never heard the other person directly, nor got to share and receive feedback directly; everything was happening only through the interpretation of the interlocutor. And, because the kinds of changes proposed by the manager were neither shared with nor agreed to directly, both parties had to keep interpreting what the other was doing — a sure recipe for increased misunderstandings and more breakdown.
I used to do this kind of interlocution in conflicts in my family, so I have compassion for it. I understand it’s coming from a desire to ‘keep the peace’ and ‘make sure people don’t feel more hurt by the other’. And yet, ultimately, I recognized that in my family, the more they were separated, the less they could see the vulnerability, intentions of, and impacts felt by the other person, and the more they would create stories to fill in the gaps — which often denied the wholeness and complexity of the other person. As an interlocutor, I wasn’t building bridges; I was reinforcing walls.
(Side note: I see the effect of this kind of separation in many places in our world and communities at this time — in political, geographic, racial, gender, class, etc., divides. It’s like the less we interact with the ‘other’, the bigger our stories and our sureties get about the other. In the absence of meaningful direct experience, divides only seem to grow, because we think we know what we do not. Abstractions and generalizations abound without specific and multiple interactions. I see how the inner landscape plays a major role in the kinds of interpersonal relationships that form (or don’t form) and the systemic structures that get co-created out of the lack of these relationships and conversations.)
Conversely, if I have a more open mindset and heart-set around conflict, I might approach my relationships and the systems I co-create very differently. I might recognize that conflicts are neither good nor bad; they are just the meeting point of differences, and I can get curious about those differences when they show up. I might remember that I can’t read anyone’s mind, and they can’t read mine, and if I slow down and ask questions, listen and honestly share my needs as well, we will likely find a way forward. I might organize regular check-ins and feedback-to-feedforward sessions, and normalize growth and learning as part of my organization. I might be softer with my own and others’ mistakes, and see them as learning opportunities with ample place for forgiveness, repair and course-correcting forward. I might feel like playing a small role in supporting folks to feel heard, and then encouraging them to come together to co-learn and work through their conflict. I might remember that an equal part of what is happening is likely below the surface, sourced and rooted in the inner worlds of the people involved, and not get limited to only what is visible in the outward dynamic.
Conflict is just one place I can see these deep roots. It shows up in moments with my generosity (or lack there-of), my compassion (or lack there-of), my creativity (or lack there-of), and so much more. What is happening in my inner world, what stories have I constructed out my pain and/or out of my joy, and how are those showing up in with whom and how I relate, what I do, and how I engage with transformation in this moment?
What I am saying is nothing new, really. It’s the basis of mindfulness, meditation, and so many contemplative practices. I heard recently that a true measure of your mindfulness practice is not a personal feeling of calm, but rather, the quality of the relationships you are cultivating with others. The piece I want to add is that inner awareness — noticing and making it visible— is, in my estimation, 50% of the collective puzzle. And, unfortunately, I sense that communities and organizations shy away from it, and focus instead on policies and protocols, and then, secondarily, maybe, skill-building. I guess they think those external elements will guide peoples’ inner worlds, without realizing that maybe it’s the other way around. When the internal dimensions are given more space and time, and more light and air, then they can nourish healthier relationships and lead to more aligned systems. At the very least, the awareness can build more understanding of why things are maybe happening the way they are.
So, in this time of eclipse, I am flipping the script on my own understanding. If the awesome light of the sun can be blotted out by the moon, and night can be made of day, I’m going to double down on looking for what I can’t see, and honor the mystery below the surface. That ‘wood wide web’ is calling, and I will be listening.
What do you see below the surface in your inner world, that might be showing up in how you approach your relationships and the systems you are co-creating? I’d love to hear if you’re willing to share in the comments.